


Satellites (the elemental remix)

by theladyrose



Series: sine qua non [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyrose/pseuds/theladyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles where Hawke's companions reflect on the chain reaction of events she sets off on their lives</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coup de Foudre

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bedrock in Bedlam and Satellites: two drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/208434) by [theladyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyrose/pseuds/theladyrose). 



> AN: Remixing a drabble that I originally wrote for a different fandom. It fits DA2 so much better.

_Elemental forces govern our lives beyond the laws of physics. We naturally repel and attract one another, orbiting around and colliding with each other in the same holding patterns until some external force intervenes._

Electricity has always been Anders’ natural element; healing is but a specific manifestation of guiding and restoring that energy along the body’s natural ebbs and flows. Not even sex can compete with the exquisite chemistry emanating from his fingertips, the arcane pleasure that any second he can set into motion the fundamental forces of the universe. He was born to unleash controlled chaos upon those who threaten the natural order.

Somewhere in his head he hears a faint voice warning him that his brand of righteousness exacts an unnatural cost borne by far too many, but it is one that slips out of consciousness more easily these days. But even more so than in his time with the Wardens, his work has become a catalyst shocking Kirkwall out of complacency and setting off the chain reaction necessary to synthesize dissenting elements into justice.

Bound to Justice, he realizes that he’s always been charged by some greater force; for all the limitations that the Templars and the Chantry have exacted, magic has freed him from the prison of an unremarkable life that made no difference on the world. His life has been a string of events as fantastic and inexorable as the strike of his tempest spells; his legend has blinded the world from the meager reality of his all too human existence. Whatever’s left of him, Anders the possessed spirit man, attracts and repels people with equal alacrity, without deliberate intention of making an impression either way.  But until he met Hawke, he had not realized that he could be struck with the _coup de foudre_ by the one bright light in Kirkwall.

 _Coup de foudre_ : Literally translates from French as "bolt of lightning," but refers to the sense of love at first sight


	2. poetry in motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris muses on the poetry of bodies in motion and the written word.

_Bodies in motion inevitably create friction; they attract and repel in seemingly idiosyncratic cycles._

How was it that he found himself yet again defending a vengeful abomination of a healer, a hairy dwarf fondling a crossbow bigger than himself, and a rogue lockpicker who single handedly defeated the Arishok? (He has not yet found the right comeback to Isabela’s leers that he enjoys “the view” on the Wounded Coast as he guards the party’s backs.) Now that his life is his own, he cannot bear the thought his friends losing their lives to protect the freedoms of others as powerless as his former self. Danarius molded him into the ultimate weapon, but for the first time Fenris is the one setting the terms by which monsters will meet their deaths today.

For reasons he cannot articulate, he has always been drawn to Hawke’s side, their back-to-back dance of death sending waves of enemies staggering in their wake. His tempo quickens and stamina bolsters, cleaving and scything in tandem with Hawke’s pinpoint strikes and twin-fanged backstabs finishing off his targets. Never before has he realized the poetry that bodies express: the merciless trajectory as she leaps upon an unsuspecting enemy, the way her torso flexes as she dodges an enemy’s blade, how her slender wrists twist the stiletto she wields like an extension of her hand. It’s not just the pulsating rush of adrenaline and lyrium that propels him to strike anyone who dares touch her. But outside of these missions, how could she be so compelled to seek out his company when he’s most comfortable communicating with a defensive snarl and a greatsword more intimidating than his tattoos?

For the first time in his life, he can speak his mind freely, yet he finds himself at a loss for words around Hawke. The lyrium under his skin has bound to blood and sinew, corroding whatever’s left of him to the essence: rage, loyalty, fortitude, self-preservation instinct. Whatever he has accomplished has been through the sacrifices that his body has borne, not the power of his words. He doesn’t have Isabela’s flair for double entendres, Varric’s knack for a captivating yarn, or Hawke’s magnetism, attracting every sob story and public menace. She speaks like a noble and scraps like a Lowtown mercenary, captivating Hightown without losing the human touch.

Yet she comes to him night after night, painstakingly revealing the wonders of the written word and the beauty of what is known but left unsaid. With each syllable that falls from her lips, he realizes that nothing is adequate enough to express how he feels about Hawke. His bonds are the hardest to break – only love or hate can free him from his ghosts, and in this new phase of his life love has removed the shackles of his own making.

Later that night, he finger the scarlet token encircling his wrist before picking up the book of Shartan and putting into words the epic tale before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there's a reference to Kipling's "If" - "Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch." It seemed appropriate for Hawke.


	3. gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline is a force of nature.

_Bodies in motion inevitably create friction; they attract and repel in seemingly idiosyncratic cycles._

When she first met Hawke, they were each repelling darkspawn from different directions. Same objective, different ends – their relationship has followed that trajectory since, their paths intertwining in pursuit of the right causes but leading them to different ends.

The resistance she encounters at every turn does not stop her from initiating the confrontations that must take place to counteract the communal drift from integrity. At Ostagar, in Kirkwall – she’s been conveying too much momentum forward to be able to stop doing what she was born to do. The heat is on her, the Guard Captain, for causing so much friction among the elites so far removed from the action. She responds with increased vigor, extending her reach outside the areas that her guards patrol in her missions with Hawke. At the center of the brewing storm engulfing Kirkwall, Aveline carries the weight of a legendary name, using the force of her words and actions to pull the guard together and keep their fractured city from imploding on itself.

The magnitude of what she stands for keeps her grounded, pushes her to seek out Kirkwall’s leading mover and shaker to set things right where Aveline cannot act on her own. She and Hawke are kindred spirits; their memories of those left behind impart their own mass, weigh upon each and every decision they make.

In time, they will discover that never has taking a stand set in motion a revolution as potent as the one at the Gallows.


	4. polaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What kept her alive was her understanding of the body was a weapon, an instrument primed to elicit pain as easily as it could pleasure.

_Despite millennia of magic, war and the Maker, we have so far to go to go in understanding whatever it is that draws us together._

There were worse places to be run aground indefinitely – there was no place to get wasted quite like the Hanged Man now that Hawke and company were making waves in Kirkwall. Thankfully there were enough adventures outside the city walls to keep her from the kinds of trouble she avoided at sea. She still wasn’t sure how much she owed Corff (knowing Varric, she probably would never know), but the bar man knew better than to give her any trouble. Corff was lucky that she hadn’t started more duels to protect her ears from hideously florid propositions from drunks nowhere close to meeting her standards.

What kept her alive was her understanding of the body was a weapon, an instrument primed to elicit pain as easily as it could pleasure. Her reputation was tactical - seduce others into surrendering their bodies into the right positions before tearing through their defenses. Keeping those she encountered teetering on the brink was the most effective way of gaining leverage over the odds, and Luck was more likely to serve her in these breaches of decorum. Luck, she learned, had to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of up to the hilt, and Isabela was not one to leave any cards on the table.

It was hard to escape from the turmoil rising below the waterline that she had tried to stave off for her sake and (as grudgingly as she had to admit it) for her companions. For once, doing the right thing has caught people she actually cares about into the biggest storm encountered yet. Isabela hated to admit it, but Hawke and company have become her Polaris. Relying on others for direction is strangely freeing, knowing that somehow they’ll all get each other through their respective messes. Where before she’d pursue any sufficiently promising profits, she’s with people like Hawke and Aveline and Merrill who care enough to steer her away from the consequences of her own harebrained schemes. For the first time, the game is being played in her favor, and she doesn’t even have to cheat (unless she wants to).

She’s become anchored to some place that feels like home, but being grounded means that she’s just as ready to take them all away and chart a new direction once this city falls into the void.


	5. moon landing (man of action, man of words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric the storyteller, with words as weapons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by W.H. Auden's "Moon Landing"
> 
> We were always adroiter   
> with objects than lives, and more facile   
> at courage than kindness

_Despite millennia of magic, war and the Maker, we have so far to go to go in understanding whatever it is that draws us together._

We were always more adept at courage than kindness, unless you were the Champion of Kirkwall.

That wasn’t his usual way of opening a story; as much as he appreciated how sales of _Hard in Hightown_ paid for his room at the Hanged Man, Varric preferred for his tales to leave a legacy that would resonate for generations. Even as a surfacer, he found himself composing Kirkwall’s unofficial Shaperate. Time wore down mortal remains but not the words binding memories cast as truth. Legends were forged from the words of storytellers, heroes an artifact of history recast to suit the times. The best merchants sold dreams as needs that kept one alive and needs as dreams of something better than reality, and Varric wasn’t the best of the guild on reputation alone. A silver tongue, a sympathetic ear, and a deft hand made him the most valuable ally in the city. Information was the one true currency, a way to cut through the chaos of rumor and gossip that sparked the tensions ready to set the city aflame.

His livelihood – really, his reason for being - hinged upon the power of words to create and seduce and destroy. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t live for the days where he could let Bianca set the rhythm of their battles in and outside Kirkwall. Still, there was nothing comparable (not even that pure lyrium dust he tried once in his youth) to the rush he felt when enchanting an audience the next day with stories that no one else could tell. Life was a series of accidents that only made as much sense as you could invent – acts of heroism were just as easily misconstrued as criminal, and even seemingly irrelevant details came back to bite you. Honor could be extracted from any chaos so long as one knew what story to tell while the world fell apart around them – he learned enough from protecting Bartrand from himself since childhood.

Man of action, man of words; stories as a call to action to make something of this improbable, mixed up life – that would be his epitaph to himself. It was in his favor to portray himself as a companion and not an instigator of events, gave him the freedom from accepting the ultimate responsibility that all too often dragged true heroes from their pedestals. He reached for Bianca, humming a tune whose lyrics only he knew as he began polishing her in preparation for whatever Hawke would bring to his doorstep next. Words not his only weapons of choice - this family that Hawke created were the best in making a capricious world one worth fighting for.


	6. angels in the architecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill, keeper of the forgotten

_Maybe we're just satellites in orbit, drawn to the celestial spheres. Our motions propel the universe forward to creation or supernova. The powers of alpha and omega are in our hands._

 _  
_

For some, magic ran like blood through every fiber of their being, coursing just below the surface and ready to break through the surface at the first sign of threat.

Not so for Merrill – magic was a force of nature that was respected but could never be fully tamed. Using magic involved channeling power from a world just beyond her fingertips, a borrowed gift that required its caster’s corporeal sacrifice to sustain. Magic taught her discipline, taught her to cut through fear and serve as the vessel of something far greater than herself. The other elves think she’s a naïve child of nature, cursed to perpetually walk into some new trouble. She does not understand how they submit to the sluggish rhythms of Alienage life, which is not so different from the fatalism of the Dalish. Even without the shems, they are deaf to the music of the universe and the beauty that can be found even in the breakdown. There was a unique delight in discovering something new every day in Kirkwall, even if it was a better way to get back to her home without wandering into the Viscount’s bathroom en route.

It stymied her, how quickly feuds turned bloody because no one seemed to respect how transient these moments all were. Sebastian’s Chantry taught that magic should never rule over man, but what he doesn’t realize is that they are all governed by something arcane and terrible that no mortal mind could begin to comprehend – be it the Creators, the Maker, the specters of the Fade that prowl through dreams. All these warring groups were beholden to their visions of what humanity and others not like themselves should and must be, cannot see past their differences to witness the miracle that is being alive. She got along so well with Isabela and Varric because they yearned to see the world in all its squalor and splendor without casting judgment. The Eluvian was not a reflection on the past glory of the Elvehen, as Varric mistakenly noted in his (unpublished) stories about the Dalish pariah. It was a window into a future of promise that could be seen and brought into this world if only the clan could see past their cynicism. And yet she had been so blind to Eluvian’s distorted reflections of its surroundings into a meaningless blur, should have heeded Flemeth’s all too prescient warning. She had been so blind to her people, the Dalish and Hawke’s companions, as Keeper of a fantasy that put them all at the whim of a demon. No future was worth the sacrifice of the present, though for Hawke and company she realizes how many more reasons she has to fight for this world.


	7. zugzwang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Sebastian, sometimes actions are questions, not answers.

_Maybe we're just satellites in orbit, drawn to the celestial spheres. Our motions propel the universe forward to creation or supernova. The powers of alpha and omega are in our hands._

The earth shuddered as the dragon collapsed to the ground, Hawke barely dodging out of the way its left hind foot. A quiver and a half of arrows had pierced the dragon's hide, most of them his (though he'd let Varric drunkenly boast otherwise back at the Hanged Man). It was rare these days for these quests to be so straightforward: no mages, no templars, no ambivalence about what was the right thing to do and who would still be in danger afterwards. Hawke went out of her way to shield him from the seedier machinations of Kirkwall's politics; she'd always joke that she had to shield his innocent, Maker-blessed eyes from the death and debauchery that frequently resulted from their - her - actions. He was not so naive to be unaware that the city was at a breaking point, but Sebastian appreciated being able to choose his causes out his own sense of duty. It was the first time he was protected as a friend, and not from doubts that he knew how to do anything right.

He was not ashamed to admit that he felt most free in the heat of battle, gratified to see some tangible result from his work and knowing that he did something that mattered - keeping his friends' lives safe. There he could be their equal, where status was determined by ability and not birthright. Though he would never publicly admit it, he had doubts that his sanctuary was so sacred when his friends, even the abomination, were single handedly fighting against the corruption that no one else was willing to address. It troubled Sebastian how many higher-ranking members of the Chantry - especially the templars - abused their authority under the Maker's name; other than Elthina, Sister Leliana was the only exception who came to mind. How could the Maker love all His children when they continued to defile the blessing that is life? It was hard to believe that those who confessed to him were ready to accept the absolution he gave when he later found his arrows in their corpses.

Thinking about his future was like looking into two mirrors facing each other, the reflections distorted into infinity - whatever choices he made ultimately led to whatever fate the Maker would choose to reveal, but there was no one true path where he could foresee the outcomes he desired. It took a lifetime to justify the value of one's life to the Maker, and worthiness was borne by sacrifices made before the final consequences are known. But sometimes our actions are questions, not answers, Elthina once said, and his life up until Hawke was but a series of questions that he let others answer for him. No wonder he is attracted to the sure precision of archery, the one thing whose path is as true as his will.

There will come a day where his path will deviate from his friends, where he will need to choose between what he wants for himself and what is needed of him. But for the time being, his sense of agency drives him to those with the conviction to forge a new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zugzwang: chess/game theory term; a situation in which the obligation to make a move in one's turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage


	8. someday a great notion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not the family the family Leandra imagined, but they've become something even she couldn't have hoped for. References to Legacy - if you haven't played through the entirety, beware spoilers.

You can never return home again, but settling into the ~~Amell~~ Hawke estate meant that she could now live and be respected on her own terms for the first time in her life. They no longer required the same supervision they did back in Lothering, but it was fascinating to see the incredible women that Teresa and Bethany were becoming now that they knew how to escape childhood fears. Carver was preserved in her memory like a treasured painting, softer around the edges but the original likeness unmistakable; her memories of Malcolm were no less fond, but preserved with the clarity that a happy but difficult marriage brought.

Leandra wasn't used to waiting so long for the next disaster to arrive at her doorstep; with three children and two apostates (one of whom occasionally exhibited a juvenile sense of humor) underfoot, she wasn't accustomed to two dwarves and an elf girl cleaning up the messes that she and Teresa had always taken care of. Strange to hear Hightown, Lowtown, and everywhere in between calling her Teresa by Malcolm's made-up family name, Hawke, a joke referring to the hunter bird crest representing the Amells. The Maker's sense of humor knew no bounds in enduring the impossible. The Witch of the Wilds herself, Gray Wardens, blood magic, the Deep Roads - at this rate, maybe she'll pick up a sword and become a battle maiden, leading an exalted march against the separation of mages from their families.

She overhears another monlogue about the failures of the Circle from Anders, earnest voice of justice; perhaps that's where Teresa's friends came up with the nickname, as he was if possessed by some righteous spirit? Leandra can't help but watch from the shadows of the main hall, all of Hawke's friends, even the Starkhaven prince from the Chantry, gathered at the long dining table that no longer feels awkward and empty. They have become her surrogate children, taking place for a new family that Teresa has cultivated. The striking elf's gauntlet scrapes into the table as Teresa defends Anders from Aveline's reasoned counter-objections. Leandra has seen that look of utter, heartbreaking longing on her daughter's face, and it gratifies her to know that for once, Teresa has found a worthy match. Leandra makes a note to herself to deliver a few nights' worth of supper to send to Fenris's mansion; it wouldn't do for him to waste away from hunger before they reconciled. Malcolm would have loved Fenris; despite the Tevinter's admittedly painful history with magic, Malcolm would have been proud to find someone who could challenge but unconditionally support their bravest daughter.

The vase of white lilies that arrived this morning feel like the first bloom of possibility, that life wants her to write a new chapter of an adventure she wasn't previously open to imagining. Why shouldn't she play political peacemaker to foil her daughters, under the innocuous guise of matchmaking others? And should that chapter be short lived, she's proud of the legacies that will remain long after her death, knowing that someone greater will take her place in Kirkwall history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a really sneaky Eleanor Cousland reference if you squint (Deborah Moore voices both mothers). Yes, I took a few liberties with the ground for layout of the Amell estate, but it made more thematic sense that way.


End file.
